The Portrait
by Rae Roberts
Summary: Severus Snape tries to cope with a not-so-inanimate object. Complete.
1. Eyes

Disclaimer: I don't claim to own any copyrighted material. I am indebted to 'The Harry Potter Lexicon' for many of the little details of this story. Any errors are mine, not theirs.

Author's notes: Setting is the future, for sake of argument let's say 2011. Dumbledore is retired. This particular story is not a romance.

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The Portrait

by Rae Roberts

The portrait of the little girl had always hung in the far corner of the lab, one of the few paintings in the laboratory. Professor Severus Snape did not particularly care for it. It reminded him, vaguely, of the 'big-eyed waif' paintings so popular with Muggles in the nineteen-sixties. Not that the portrait was painted in that style, thank Merlin, but it did have a naïve quality about it that did not appeal to the potions master. Despite his dislike of the piece, it had never occurred to him to have it taken down. This was Hogwarts, after all, and at Hogwarts, one did not tamper with tradition. The portrait had hung quietly in the far corner for more years than even Griselda Marchbanks could remember, and there it would remain.

Tonight, the little girl was watching him. A minor detail, but one the sharp-eyed Professor noticed almost immediately upon entering the lab. He endured her gaze while setting out the ingredients for the antidote he was planning to brew in preparation for the next day's class. Shrinking Solutions were tricky; at least one of the slack-jawed idiots in the third-year class could be counted on to get it wrong. Snape checked his recipe methodically, running a long, sallow finger down the page. When he looked up from the tome, the portrait-girl was still watching intently. She'd seldom raised her eyes from her cauldron before. Snape suppressed an urge to squirm uncomfortably under that hungry gaze. Whatever did the child want ? He resolved to ignore her, raising his wand to light the fire under his own cauldron. He could feel her watching even after he'd turned his back on her. "Bloody nuisance." He lowered the wand, turning abruptly and raising his eyes to meet hers. "What the hell do you want ?" he snapped. The portrait-child let out a nervous squeak and hastily returned her attention to stirring her brew. Snape watched her impassively for a long minute, then returned to his own work, satisfied that she had been sufficiently intimidated; no more irksome stares this evening. He didn't feel guilty for having frightened her; young children generally reacted to Severus Snape with varying degrees of terror. Why would a painted child be any different ?


	2. Resolve

In the weeks that followed, Severus Snape could not forget his encounter with the girl in the portrait. Although she hadn't looked up again as far as he could tell, the memory of her eyes haunted him. He'd taken to glancing over at the painting surreptitiously, sometimes a dozen times a day. She was always there, looking down, stirring her cauldron. Sometimes late at night, she dozed, slumped on a wooden bench in the background. Snape couldn't remember the portrait-girl ever leaving her frame in the laboratory, not that that meant that she didn't. The whereabouts of the subject of one painting had never before been of interest to him. Now he stood in the entrance hall of Hogwarts Castle, watching the many paintings hanging there with an analytical air. He'd taken to examining the castle paintings most evenings after dinner, if he didn't have a detention to oversee. Severus Snape would not have admitted it, but the students whispered that he'd been unusually lenient lately. In fact, he hadn't assigned a single detention all week, a fact that would have annoyed him, had he noticed it.

Although portraits of adults dominated the Hogwarts galleries, there were a fair share of paintings of young people too. The potions master concentrated on these as students passing through the hall went out of their way to avoid walking too close to him. Snape ignored them all. From his observations he'd determined that the little portrait-girl wasn't in the habit of visiting any of the other children. Since he'd been paying attention to the matter, she hadn't made an appearance in any of the popular landscapes either. Snape turned his attention to a painting of a lakeside; the residents of a dozen different portraits strolled there, adults conversing sedately, children wading and splashing along the shore. The portrait-girl from the dungeon was not among them. Snape shook his head and turned away. Not all of the Hogwarts portraits were as gregarious as that insufferable Fat Lady who guarded the Gryffindor Tower, he reminded himself. The portrait-girl was simply a loner. The professor permitted himself a thin smile; he could certainly sympathize. His curiosity refused to be satisfied, however. If the painting was so antisocial, why had she stared at him with such longing in her eyes ? The giggles of two Ravenclaw second-years interrupted his reflections. With a start, Snape realized he'd been standing at the head of the stairs, lost in thought. "Miss Grosvenor. Miss Amaranth. Five points each from Ravenclaw for...for loitering," he snarled. Ignoring their reproachful looks, the potions master descended to his dungeon in a swirl of black robes.

-----

The girl stirred her cauldron absently. She'd nearly given up on her idea – what a stupid, foolish idea ! After her first, failed attempt to communicate, she'd almost abandoned hope. Almost. Upon awakening this morning, though, she'd found that the house-elves had dusted her; even as industrious as they were, they sometimes forgot her for months on end. The world outside her frame seemed fresher, brighter somehow, with the layer of dust cleared away. Now, listening to the afternoon lesson, she felt ready to try again. Keeping her eyes demurely on her brew, the portrait-girl waited patiently for the last class to be dismissed. She flinched involuntarily as Professor Snape shouted angrily at a student who'd allowed his cauldron to boil over. He kept up a stream of sarcastic remarks until the class finally ended. The girl trembled. She couldn't do it – No ! She could ! As the last footsteps faded across the dungeon floor, she dared to look up in time to see the potions master exit the laboratory. The girl squared her shoulders resolutely and clutched her wand tighter in her painted hand. Tonight, when he returned, she would ask him.


	3. Want

Even before Severus Snape entered the dungeon, he knew. The portrait-child would be watching him. He felt apprehension, mingled with relief so strong it caught him by surprise. Now his curiosity would be satisfied. Snape realized he was hesitating on the threshold of the lab. He gave a snort of impatience; she was only a child. Not even that; merely a painting of a child. He stepped into the laboratory and met her eyes. "Professor Snape." Her voice was husky, lower than expected for her age. Eleven ? Perhaps twelve, surely no older.

Snape glided closer, close enough to read the engraved brass plaque centered on the bottom of the frame. "Yes, Miss Stuart ? What may I do for you ?" Grey-green eyes widened, surprised. She hadn't expected him to be civil, he realized, amused. The portrait-girl made several unsuccessful attempts to answer. Snape waited impatiently, trying to keep his expression encouraging - or at least not too threatening. How long had she remained mute ? It was easy to imagine it had been decades since she'd spoken last.

"I..." That one syllable seemed to cost her a great deal. The child looked terrified. Snape leaned closer, hooked nose nearly touching the canvas, silently willing the girl to get on with it. He realized what he was doing, collected himself and stepped back. "I w-want to take the Potions O.W.L. !" she blurted. Snape was dumbfounded. He hadn't been able to fathom what the portrait-child might have wanted to communicate, but this ! A request to take an exam ? His mouth was hanging open, he noticed. The potions master shut it with a snap. "The Ordinary Wizarding Level," the girl explained unnecessarily, her voice growing stronger. "I... I missed taking it, when I was a student. I want to take the Potions O.W.L." she repeated.

"You can't." Snape grasped at the only thing he could think of that made sense at the moment. "You're too young. Why, you couldn't have even completed your first year before..." his voice trailed off. Before what ? Silently, the potions master cursed himself for a fool. Before she'd been painted ? Before the living child she represented had – what ? Grown up ? Died ?

The girl considered his words for a long moment. "I was in my fifth year when I died," she told him finally, as though just now remembering. She glanced down at herself. "I was... painted... from my parents' memories of me." She looked up at him again. "They never thought of me as being older than I was when I left for school, I suppose." A wry expression, not quite a smile, crossed her face.

Snape scowled at the painting. Her story, if he'd wanted to admit it, had moved him. He didn't want to admit it. "So your life was cut short. Regrettable, but there's nothing I can do about it. You're not really alive, surely you understand that ? Your... personality, for lack of a better term, is merely an echo. A faint, lingering resonance of a girl long dead." The portrait-girl's lower lip trembled. Her eyes suddenly seemed over-bright. Snape recognized the signs from long experience. He was about to make yet another little girl cry. He shrugged. After close to thirty years of teaching, it was nothing new. "You are a painting," he told her bluntly. "Paintings, even magical ones, do not take O.W.L.s."

The portrait drew a deep, shuddering breath. To his surprise, she did not cry. Instead, she drew herself up, seeming to gather all her courage. "I am a painting now, Professor Snape. But you have the power to make me live again."


	4. Test

"You have the power to make me live again." The words hung in the musty air of the dungeon.

Severus Snape glowered at the portrait. She stared right back at him, pointed chin raised defiantly. "You're speaking of Dark magic," he told her. "What makes you think you deserve a second chance ?"

The question caught her off guard. She blinked. "I didn't have much of a life, Professor Snape," she began, "only fifteen years-"

"Many people die young," he said heartlessly.

"Without happiness ? Without..." she hesitated, her narrow cheeks flushing. "Without love ?" she asked plaintively.

He snorted dismissively. Adolescent dramatics, and from an oil painting, yet. "Spare me. You were loved," he argued. "Your parents loved you." He pointed to her frame as evidence. "They had this memorial created."

"After I died." That wry expression was back. "They may very well have loved me. I don't know. They didn't show it while I lived." Snape blinked. It was his turn to be caught off guard. "You got a second chance," the portrait-girl said shrewdly, pressing her advantage. "I remember the night the old headmaster brought you here-"

"That's enough," he snapped. How many conversations had she listened to, over the long years, forgotten in her corner ? He didn't like the advantage it gave her, not one bit.

"Dumbledore didn't ask if you were worthy," she pressed on. "He gave you the chance to know peace. To have happiness."

Happiness. His mouth twisted in a sneer. "Surely your life was happier than mine has been, Miss Stuart." Those green eyes bored into his, intense. Snape reminded himself they were just paint on canvas. "You can't tell me you didn't experience some happiness, at least."

Then she did cry, just two painted tears rolling silently down her painted cheeks. "It wasn't enough."

Snape stood staring at her. She looked down, defeated. He turned away abruptly and strode into his office. He grabbed a copy of the third-year standard potions text and began, roughly, to flip through it. The recipe for the Shrinking Solutions he'd taught the month before caught his eye. The potions master hesitated for a moment, then nodded to himself. Returning to the laboratory, he flung the book down on a desk which he dragged over to the portrait's corner. "Can you see that ?"

She sniffed loudly. "Y-yes."

"Right, then. You have one week in which to acquire the ingredients." Eyes bright with tears blinked at him, confused. "I can't very well hand them to you from the storage closet, can I ?" he asked cruelly. "This is a test," Snape went on. "Prove to me you can do something other than stir," he sneered. "It's a basic third-year potion. If you're really ready to sit for your O.W.L, this should be a snap. You will demonstrate to me that you can brew this potion one week from tonight."

"Y-you're going to help me ?"

The potions master eyed her coolly. "Not so fast. I'm no Albus Dumbledore," he told the girl unnecessarily. "If I'm going to even consider helping you – _if –_" he emphasized, "you're going to have to show me that you're worth the trouble."


	5. Rat

Severus Snape pulled yet another heavy parchment scroll from the shelf. Having nothing to go on but a name and style of clothing, he'd begun searching the Hogwarts records, starting with those dating back to the fifteenth century. Several hours later, he'd reached the late sixteenth century with no sign yet of the portrait-girl. Of course, Snape could have simply asked the child for the information, but he preferred to find out about her on his own, if at all possible. She already seemed to know far too much about _him_. The potions master sneezed as he unrolled the latest scroll; mildew darkened much of the text. "Ah, there you are." Snape let out a sigh of satisfaction. Veronica Stuart, Slytherin, 1578-1583. Slytherin, eh ? Well, that didn't exactly come as a shock. Running a finger over the line of script, he memorized the dates. It gave him a chill to think that the child who'd inspired the portrait had been dead for over four hundred years. How did she die ? Snape replaced the scroll and turned his attention to one of the weighty tomes containing decades of Hogwarts minutiae.

Miss Veronica Stuart had been absent from her frame a great deal in the past few days. Snape hadn't approached the portrait since issuing his challenge; he wasn't about to offer the girl any encouragement. But he had been grudgingly pleased to see a new addition to the painting just that morning. A fresh bunch of daisies lay on the table next to the cauldron, plucked from one of the landscapes, no doubt. Later, as Snape left the library and descended the main staircase, he was amused to see the portrait-girl stealthily enter a painting he'd always thought utterly ridiculous. It was a massive canvas depicting a giraffe crossing the African savanna. He slipped behind a pillar and watched unobserved as the girl stalked the beast through the tall grass, hot on the trail of the Abyssinian shrivelfig.

-----

Veronica surveyed the neat piles of ingredients with relief. It hadn't been difficult at all to acquire the shrivelfig or the daisy roots. The caterpillar had been located on a stem in a botanical print. She'd managed to get the rat spleen as well, borrowing a knife from a still life of fruit and catching the rat in an improbable painting of the animals boarding Noah's ark two-by-two. She shuddered; she'd dreaded killing the rat, and it had been even more difficult for her than she'd imagined. Veronica had never killed anything larger than a spider before. Once the rat had stopped squeaking and thrashing, though, she'd dissected it and removed the spleen without a qualm.

The most difficult ingredient of all to acquire had been the leech juice. There were no leeches to be found in any of the Hogwarts paintings. She'd nearly despaired before the idea had come to her to ask Dilys Derwent. The former Hogwarts headmistress had also been a Healer; she could travel between her frame in the headmistress' office and the one in St. Mungo's. It had been nerve-wracking to approach such an important portrait, surrounded by other venerable former headmasters and mistresses of the school, even Albus Dumbledore himself. But after six days of searching, Veronica had been desperate enough to overcome her shyness. Thankfully Dilys Derwent had been sympathetic. She'd brought the leeches from a painting in St. Mungo's just an hour before. Satisfied that everything was in order, Veronica waited patiently for Professor Snape to enter the lab. She would prove herself worthy. She _would_ pass his test.


	6. Speech

Severus Snape maintained his habitual sneer as he observed the portrait-girl, currently chopping daisy roots with meticulous care. Her eyes kept straying out of her frame, watching for his reaction. She was doing quite well, actually. Very well. The potions master didn't let his approval show. If she really intended to sit for the O.W.L, she'd have to produce a far more difficult potion in front of the examiner; no sense coddling the child with flattery. Her cheeks flushed as their eyes met; she hastily returned her attention to her work. Minutes passed. At last the girl added a precise four drops of leech juice and the potion turned a bright acid green. She'd produced a perfect Shrinking Solution. She waited, afraid to look up, almost seeming to hold her breath. "That would earn an A in my classroom, Miss Stuart," he told her.

"Only an A ?" she asked hesitantly. "I was hoping for an E, at least-"

He snorted, cutting her off. "An E ? The potion is Acceptable... barely."

She raised her chin defiantly, temper flaring. "It's an O, Professor Snape, and you know it. You just don't want to help me."

Instead of replying, Snape turned away and walked to his office. He returned a moment later carrying a heavy leather-bound book, setting it down on the desk in front of the portrait with a bit more force than necessary. As he flipped the book open, an additional chill entered the dungeon laboratory, a very real sense of menace that caused the girl to recoil in her frame. Woodcut illustrations on the page writhed unpleasantly. In the past week, Snape had done a great deal of research in the restricted section of the library. He had to admit, the challenge intrigued him. "This is just the first of the rites you're asking me to perform, Miss Stuart," he said, indicating the page. "You are aware that the Ministry still frowns on use of the Dark Arts ? I'd be risking my teaching career, at the very least." The portrait-girl didn't respond. "There is an even greater risk to you," Snape went on. "You would become an essential ingredient of the potion, you understand. If I were to fail, your portrait would be destroyed. Your existence, such as it is, would come to an end."

"I've died once already, Professor," she said, again with that wry expression, almost a smile. "I'm willing to accept the risks if you are." The portrait-girl hesitated. "Are you ?" She leaned closer in her frame, waiting expectantly for his reply.

Snape closed the book and changed the subject. "You died in 1583, Miss Stuart. Failed to survive a werewolf attack." Sarcasm crept into his tone. "Tell me, you seem like a bright girl. Whatever possessed you to enter the Forbidden Forest under a full moon ?"

She didn't answer right away, standing there in her frame with a far-away look in her painted eyes. Snape realized the girl was seeking back over the decades, remembering. Four hundred and twenty-eight years was a long time, he reflected. "I needed an ingredient for a potion," she said finally. "Love-in-idleness. It has to be harvested at the full moon."

"_Viola lutea_," Snape supplied the Latin name. "You planned to brew a love potion, then."

The girl blushed and lowered her eyes. "There was a boy... I loved him. He didn't even know I was alive." Her painted cheeks were crimson. "I only wanted him to notice me," she whispered.

"Such potions destroy free will. He wouldn't really have loved you," he said gently. Snape collected himself, made his voice harsh. "Was it worth it, do you think ?"

"No." She laughed softly, without humor. "I can't even remember his name."

"Typical. Foolish scatterbrained chit of a girl. Why would I add yet another hormonal, half-witted adolescent to my roster of students ?" he sneered. "I have enough idiots to deal with without brewing a fresh batch of trouble for myself."

"Because, Professor, unlike most of your students, I _want_ to learn," she said sharply. "You're a petty, mean-spirited man," Veronica told him bluntly. Snape started to reply with another insult, but she raised her voice, drowning him out. "Don't even try to deny it. I've watched you for years, ever since you were a student yourself. You're spiteful and cruel and unfair. And yet, you _are_ a good teacher. You look at those hormonal half-wits and see the potential they don't even know they possess, and you force it out of them." The professor snorted dismissively. She ignored it. "And when you find that rare student who really wants to learn, Professor Snape, you don't rest until you've taught them everything you possibly can. You drive them and belittle them and make them hate you, but you _teach_ them." The girl's eyes bored into his, refusing to let him look away. She was an eleven-year-old child no longer; Snape suddenly felt the full weight of over four hundred years of existence bearing down on him. "I _was_ a foolish scatter-brain, just like you said, but I've had centuries to regret wasting my life. Get me out of this frame, professor. Let me touch the ingredients again, smell the mold on the pages of the books, taste the fumes of the cauldron. Let me feel the magic flowing through my veins again. I'll learn ! I'll learn it all, everything you have to teach me. I'll make you proud of me, Professor Snape." Veronica stopped, blushing furiously, and lowered her eyes. She seemed very young once again, very unsure.

Snape bit back a laugh, then. What a torrent of words. More in one minute than in all the years that had come before. He hoped the outburst wasn't the start of a trend - he really didn't think he could manage another Hermione Granger, not at his age. The portrait-girl kept her eyes down, refusing to look at him again. Snape watched her for a long time before he finally spoke. "The potion itself will take at least four weeks to brew, Miss Stuart. But first, I'll have to acquire the rest of the ingredients, several of which are not readily available in the U.K." Because they're illegal, he added to himself. Snape picked up the sinister book and turned to leave. "I shall let you know when I am ready to begin."

"Professor Snape... thank you." He glanced back up at her. The portrait-girl was smiling, the first genuine smile he'd seen from her. The unaccustomed expression lit up her whole face, giving her a brief, unexpected beauty.

"I'll expect you to pay attention in class from now on, Miss Stuart," the potions master snapped. "You have four centuries of catching up to do."


	7. Lessons

"Mister Crenshaw. Name three uses for armadillo bile."

The pudgy Gryffindor fifth-year pursed his lips. "Wit-Sharpening Potions," he said slowly, "and, um, Ennervating Draughts... and... er..."

Severus Snape glowered and the boy fell silent. The professor's sharp eyes roamed over the classroom. "Miss Stuart. The third use for armadillo bile." Snape's voice cracked like a whip. The students exchanged bemused looks. There was no Stuart in the class.

"Um... I'm afraid I don't know, sir," the portrait spoke up at last. Snape strode to her corner, accompanied by snickers from the Slytherins and giggles from the Gryffindors.

"I'm afraid I don't know, sir," he repeated in a cruel mimicry of her voice. "I'll make you proud of me, Professor." Veronica blushed. "_Accio textbook_." Snape slammed the text open on the desk in front of her and pointed to a passage. "I suggest you be better prepared next time, Miss Stuart." He whirled to face the class, silencing the laughter with a glare. "Twelve inches of parchment on the properties of Armadillo bile," he commanded. "Only five short months until the Ordinary Wizarding Levels. How any of you little cretins intend to pass is beyond me." Turning back to the corner Snape added in a lower voice, "You're not exempt from the essay. Be prepared to recite Wednesday before class."

As the lesson continued Veronica blinked back tears. She kept her eyes on her cauldron, humiliated by the curious stares of the students. She'd never thought Snape would call on her in front of them. He's so spiteful, she thought, incensed. So _mean_. He's... he's treating me... _just like the rest of his students_. She nearly laughed out loud. It's really happening, she thought. I'm finally going to take the O.W.L.s.

From then on, Veronica made sure she was prepared. More books were slammed open on her desk, not only fifth-year texts, but sixth and seventh-year as well. Snape had magicked them so the pages would turn at her command. She never knew when he might call on her. He did so frequently during fifth-year Double Potions with Gryffindor, of course. He might also snap a question at her during the seventh-year Advanced Potions class. That never failed to fluster her. Or Snape might call on her when the first or second-years had failed to answer to his satisfaction. Veronica got used to the insults and sarcasm when her responses were wrong. She'd learned her lesson the first time, and never again let Snape hear her say 'I don't know.' As the weeks went by, thankfully, the number of wrong answers diminished.

Finally, Snape announced that he was ready to begin the complex potion that would restore her to life. "I will begin tomorrow night, at midnight on the full moon. Your participation will not be required until the next full moon," he told her curtly. Veronica had dozens of questions for the potions master, but he ignored them, turning away dismissively. She waited eagerly for the next night to arrive, but to her surprise and great disappointment, the potions master never returned to the dungeon after dinner. It seemed that not only would she not participate, she wouldn't be permitted to watch, either. Sometime after one o'clock Veronica dozed off in her frame, wondering sleepily if she would feel any different in the morning.

-----

Author's notes: _Veronica_, meaning 'true image'. _Stuart_, from Gilbert Stuart, dubbed the 'Father of American Portraiture'.


	8. Ritual

Veronica didn't feel any different at all the next morning, but Severus Snape looked a good deal worse for wear. "Professor Snape ? Are you all right ?" He responded to her timid inquiry with a snarl and a demand that she recite the fourteen most useful antidote ingredients. Nothing changed for the next four weeks; Snape frequently looked pale and exhausted, reminding Veronica of the years when he'd been a spy for Albus Dumbledore. One morning he entered the laboratory in a foul temper and with his left arm in a sling. Even then she hadn't dared to ask what had happened to him, but suspected, with a twinge of guilt, that it had something to do with her potion. The next day Snape's arm appeared to be perfectly fine. Two days later, he reminded her that the moon would be full that evening.

Half an hour before midnight Severus Snape locked the laboratory doors and cast Imperturbable Charms on them. "Did you get permission to do this ?" Veronica asked as he positioned a work table close to her frame.

"Better to plead _Imperious_ than to ask permission," he told her with a smirk. Veronica watched with barely-contained excitement as he laid out a variety of items on the work table, including the sinister leather-bound book. The woodcuts on the page he turned to seemed even more horrible than the ones he'd shown her before. Veronica leaned closer, trying to read the text, but Snape had placed the table just far enough away that she couldn't make out the words. Now the potions master was levitating a massive cauldron into the room, the largest Veronica had ever seen. Dark liquid swirled within. She wondered where he'd been hiding it for the past month.

Snape glanced at the clock and picked up a double-edged black knife. As the hand ticked over toward twelve, he rolled up his left sleeve. The Dark Mark was still there, Veronica noticed, though faded now, more like a normal scar. The clock began to chime midnight. She gasped as Snape slashed his arm with the knife. "Wh-what are you doing ? You cut yourself-" she stammered, staring in horrified fascination at the sudden rush of crimson.

"You were expecting me to bring a virgin sacrifice ? One of the students, perhaps ?" He sounded amused and not at all adverse to the idea.

"I thought... well, don't you have to use virgin's blood in a Dark ritual ?" she asked. It was unnerving how casually he'd opened a vein. He was clenching and loosening his fist, she realized, to keep the blood flowing freely.

"Virgins are highly over-rated," he said silkily, glancing up at her briefly. "Yes, the old texts demand a virgin sacrifice, but modern potion-making methods have proved that plain, ordinary, human blood works perfectly well."

"But you're losing an awful lot of it, sir."

"Easily dealt with. Blood-Replenishing Potion." Setting the knife down for a moment, Snape suited action to words, selecting a bottle of ruby-colored potion from the table and draining it at one gulp. Blood continued to flow into the cauldron from the gash he'd made. The liquid within was starting to roil and seethe, as though just coming to a boil. But there was no source of heat, Veronica realized with a start.

"Professor ? How is that-"

"Be quiet," he ordered. He'd picked up his wand and had begun to stir. Softly at first, then louder, Snape intoned the words of a spell. Latin, Veronica thought, interspersed with some older, harsher speech. She imagined she could just make out some of the words. Bone of my bone, blood of my blood... no, surely not ! The dungeon, always clammy, was becoming noticeably colder as Snape chanted. Darker, too, the girl realized. The torches dimmed. Shadows stretched across the ceiling, inky black and somehow menacing.

Finishing the chant, Snape took the knife in hand once more. He came around the table and began to cut the painting free of her frame. His breath formed puffs of mist in the now-frigid air. Frost coated the lip of the cauldron, the liquid inside still seething, bubbling. The shadows reached out for them as Snape pulled the canvas off the wall. The loss of stability made her head swim, her stomach churn with nausea. "I'm afraid," Veronica whispered.

"Too late for that." Far too late. He carried her to the cauldron. There was no way to prepare her for what was going to come next, Snape decided, so he didn't waste time trying. The portrait-girl's eyes widened as he gripped her canvas tightly and began to pull. She let out a scream of pure terror as the ancient material split easily in his grasp, tearing in half, then into quarters. The timbre of her cries had changed by then. Snape was intimately acquainted with the sounds - they were screams of pain. He ignored her as best he could, reminding himself that this was an inanimate object, not a living child. Still, it felt like murder. Methodically, Snape ripped the painting into smaller and smaller pieces, flinging them into the cauldron. The screams went on and on, even after he'd reduced her to shreds. Now the darkness was so deep, so total, he could no longer see. The room was icy. He shivered, the bone he'd broken for her aching with the cold. Snape located his wand by touch and began to stir.


	9. Sleep

Severus Snape knelt beside the cauldron, resting his forehead against the rim, letting the cool metal momentarily ease the pounding ache in his skull. Full awareness of his surroundings returned slowly. The room was dark, no longer supernaturally so, but simply the darkness of the dungeon, of night. The cold lingered, little more than the ordinary chill of the laboratory. Had the screams finally stopped, or had he just grown numb to them ? The potions master felt his arm, felt the slick warmth of fresh blood. He rose, using the edge of the work table to haul himself up, and felt along the table for the second bottle of Blood-Replenishing Potion. As some of his strength returned, Snape became aware of the muffled sound of crying. _"Lumos."_ He leaned over the cauldron, trembling with more than just cold. A child huddled there, eyes clenched shut, arms wrapped around her knees.

Snape lifted her out, feeling something close to awe. He dropped to his knees, clutching her to him. She was real, his creation. He could feel her slight weight against his chest, the bumps of the spine through the soft material of her robe, the sharp angles of the shoulder blades. The ribs rose and fell, the breath warm against his throat as her sobs subsided to whimpers, a mindless, animal sound. Fear clutched at him then, fear and horror. He hadn't felt such emotions during the ritual, not even when the Dark shadows had closed in and his life – her life – had hung by a single silver thread. Had the portrait-child survived her rebirth whole, intact ? Or was she somehow... defective ? Snape thrust her to her feet, gripping her by the shoulders until she managed to stand, swaying, on her own. "Stand up. Speak," he commanded harshly. "Say something ! Look at me !" The eyelids fluttered. Snape held his breath. He couldn't bear to look into the living eyes of the child, not if the personality and intelligence he'd seen in the painted eyes of the portrait had been snuffed out.

The eyes opened wide, grey-green, still shiny with tears. "Professor Snape... you're all right ?"

"Of course I'm all right," he snapped. "What is your name ? Recite the ingredients of the Wit-Sharpening Potion."

In the dim light, the girl blinked at him. Her expression clearly indicated that she was as unsure of his mental capacity as he was of hers. "Veronica Stuart. Scarab beetle, armadillo bile, and ginger root," she replied dubiously.

Snape threw back his head and laughed exultantly. "_Yes_ ! I did it," he roared.

The girl giggled, the first time he'd ever heard her do so. "I'm alive." Abruptly, she yawned, a huge yawn, cracking her jaws wide.

She raised a hand, belatedly, to cover her mouth. Snape stared in fascination at that hand, the delicate joints, the faint blue tracing of veins, each finger tipped with a little pink nail. _His creation_. She was _real_. He had done it.

"I'm so tired, Professor."

So was he, Snape realized. Exhausted. His mind worked sluggishly. What to do with her ? One of the girls' dormitories, obviously, but not now, not in the middle of the night. Well, he certainly wasn't going to take a student to his own quarters for the night – not even _this_ student ! Ignoring his mental debate, the child was already slumped on a bench, deep in slumber. He shrugged. Why not ? She'd slept in the lab for hundreds of years; one more night wouldn't hurt her... But what if she awakened in the dark, alone and frightened ? Snape glowered at the child. She was already causing problems he hadn't foreseen. Grudgingly he conjured an armchair and footstool for himself. Once settled, the potions master took another long look at what he had created. A huge yawn of his own interrupted his observation. _"Nox."_ The torches went out. Moments later, Severus Snape was asleep.


	10. Breakfast

Snape awoke with a stiff back and a throbbing headache. The girl still slumbered on, huddled on her bench. He glared at her. Why hadn't he had the sense to retire to his own quarters, to his comfortable bed ? She was an adolescent, not an infant. Irritably, Snape banished the footstool and chair and began to remove the evidence of the Dark Arts he'd performed the night before. He cast _scourgify_ on the work table and implements, cleaning everything meticulously out of long-established habit. Snape cast another glare in the girl's direction. Little good it did him to hide the evidence of his work, when the most obvious and damning evidence of what he'd done now sat blinking sleepily at him.

His foul mood lifted just a bit as little details became clear. She'd retained everything she'd had in the painting. The dark velvet robe, the little shoes... even the wand, he noted with a start and a surge of pride. The shoulder-length hair was just as it had been in the portrait, straight, fine, light brown - perhaps auburn. Snape wasn't sure about such classifications. He did know that if one were to touch it, it would be soft. _Real. _He felt little inclination to actually touch, of course. She was alive, fully sentient. One of his students, and professional boundaries would be maintained.

The girl was fully awake now and aware of his intense scrutiny. "Good morning, Professor." She gave a nervous, girlish little laugh. "I must look a mess." She waved her wand, casting some obscure feminine spell to tidy her hair.

Snape felt another fierce surge of pride. She was a witch, for certain - a powerful one if he was any judge. He chuckled sardonically. After all the students who'd passed through his classroom over the years, he thought, he ought to be a damned good judge. And speaking of damned... it was time to face the consequences of what he'd wrought. "Would you care for some breakfast, Miss Stuart ?"

She pondered this for a moment. "Yes," she replied, wonderingly. "I am hungry."

They ascended to the great hall. The girl's footsteps slowed at the intimidating sight of dozens of students crowding the long tables. Her peers – but she was not to join them just yet. "Come along," Snape said, and led her to the head table. She scurried to keep up with his long strides, letting out an audible sigh of relief at the momentary reprieve from meeting her classmates. Snape scowled. There would be no reprieve for him, not judging by McGonagall's expression.

"Good morning, Headmistress." Snape pulled out a chair for the girl, then took his own seat next to McGonagall. "This is Miss Veronica Stuart," he introduced his creation, "A fifth-year Slytherin."

McGonagall's eyebrows raised. "Good morning, Miss Stuart."

Snape chuckled again, inwardly, enjoying her reaction, minimal as it was. An excited buzz of conversation filled the hall; whispers, speculation. The rest of the staff peered curiously at them. "Miss Stuart has been on an extended sabbatical," Snape elaborated. "She's returned with the intention of sitting for her O.W.L.s with the current fifth-years."

McGonagall set her tea cup down and rose from the table. "I will see you in my office, Professor Snape. Immediately after breakfast."


	11. Trouble

Veronica loaded her plate with obvious delight. Snape watched her sourly for a minute, his stomach clenching with nausea at the smell of food. He turned away and summoned strong black coffee and dry toast as his headache pounded its way back to the forefront of consciousness. He'd forgotten how bad the reaction to wielding the Dark Arts could be. It was like a hangover straight from hell itself, he thought, resigned.

Breakfast was over all too soon. Snape made his way to the Headmistress' office, the crowds of chattering students parting reflexively to let him pass. Veronica trailed along in his wake. "Are you feeling all right, Professor ?" she asked as they reached the empty hallway in front of McGonagall's office.

"I'm fine. Athena," The potions master snapped. The gargoyle moved aside at the sound of the password and they ascended the spiral stairs.

"Professor Snape, thank you for-"

"Don't mention it."

"But you-"

"Miss Stuart, I'm serious. Don't mention it. I'm in no mood for an emotional outburst." He opened the office door.

The thin, reedy voice of one of Hogwarts' former headmasters could be heard. "Ah yes, I remember her now, Professor McGonagall. A terrible death... mauled by a werewolf. Not one of our better students, as I recall, but still... a tragic thing, dying so young."

McGonagall was leaning over her desk, examining one of the ancient Hogwarts records scrolls. She looked up as they entered. "Professor Snape." The headmistress indicated a chair in front of the desk. "And Miss Stuart, if you will wait here, we'll get you registered for classes once I've finished speaking with Professor Snape." She led the girl to an armchair some distance from her desk and indicated the walls full of bookshelves. "You may read, if you like, while you wait. This may take a while," she added, narrowing her eyes at Snape as she returned to sit across from him. McGonagall brandished the scroll she'd been reading. "According to the records, Veronica Stuart died in the sixteenth century. I'm not in the habit of meeting dead students at breakfast, Professor. I'd very much like to hear your explanation. Now." Snape sighed heavily. There was really nothing for it but to tell her the simple truth. McGonagall shook her head in disbelief as he told her of the portrait's plea. "You're telling me you brought her back to life ?"

In lieu of a reply, Snape waved his wand. _"Accio grimoire."_ Moments later the leather-bound book flew into the room and dropped on the headmistress' desk. He reached across and flipped it open for her. "A very difficult potion. Perhaps one wizard in twenty has the power to even attempt it," he pointed out smugly.

He could see that McGonagall was completely unimpressed. Not surprising. She skimmed the recipe with distaste. "You do realize, I'm going to have to inform the Ministry of this."

"The Ministry ? Because I did a bit of dabbling in the Dark Arts ?" the potions master sneered. "No one was harmed."

The headmistress was already tossing floo powder onto the grate. "You should thank Merlin no one was harmed. Blood rites under the full moon," she sniffed. "_Dabbling_ in the Dark Arts ? Total immersion is more like it."

Snape fidgeted impatiently as McGonagall spoke to first a secretary, then a harassed-looking bureaucrat through the magical flames. He noticed that the girl was seated tranquilly in her armchair, eyes lowered demurely as she paged through a book. He wasn't fooled for a second; she was undoubtedly listening to every word. She seemed capable of maintaining her pose for hours, as serene as... a portrait, he thought sardonically. She'd certainly had enough practice.

The headmistress stepped back from the fireplace. "They're going to send someone right away," she informed Snape.

A few minutes later a tiny figure whirled in the fireplace, gradually growing larger. Snape raised his eyebrows in surprise as the form became clearer; he'd expected to see a witch - Mafalda Hopkirk, or possibly Amelia Bones. At last a tall, shabbily dressed wizard with thinning grey hair stepped out of the fireplace. "Oh. It's _you_."


	12. Schedule

"Hello, Weasley. Slow day in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts department ?"

"Good morning, Snape. Headmistress. Ah, and this must be Veronica." Arthur Weasley strode to meet the girl, shaking her hand enthusiastically. "Welcome back !" Snape and McGonagall watched, bemused, as Arthur Weasley chatted amiably with the result of Snape's foray into Dark magic. Not surprising that the man liked children, Snape supposed. It would explain his having spawned seven of his own. Weasley's smile disappeared as he turned back to the two professors. "This is a very serious matter, Professor Snape." The next hour dragged tediously as the potions master repeated his story to Weasley, who took copious notes on a magical clipboard. "There will have to be an official hearing, of course. Professor McGonagall, we'll consider Professor Snape remanded to your custody until then ? Good. I'm afraid you'll be facing a hefty fine at the least, Snape."

He was barely listening as the bureaucrat droned on. What exactly would a pauper like Weasley consider a hefty fine, he wondered. "... legal guardian, you'll need to make an appointment with the department of Child Welfare, fill out the paperwork. And a Social-Wizard will be assigned to check up on the child periodically, of course..."

Snape's attention snapped back abruptly. Surely not ! "What did you say ?"

"You are the child's legal guardian," Weasley explained.

"Nonsense ! I can't possibly-"

Arthur Weasley's bland expression became stern, suddenly intimidating. "A real man doesn't bring a child into the world unless he's prepared to care for her, Snape," he said quietly.

Snape bridled. "I've never shirked my responsibilities," he hissed. "I have every intention of making sure the girl receives a good education." He glared at the Ministry official. "But paperwork ? Visits from Social-Wizards ? You can't-"

"Oh, I can, Professor Snape. I can." Weasley turned to the hearth and picked up the container of floo powder. "I suggest you cooperate fully with the Child Welfare department. It might influence the Wizangamot to be lenient with you. Even so, you may well wind up serving time in Azkaban." He stepped across the grate. "Good luck with your O.W.L.s, Veronica," he called. "Good day, Minerva."

Severus Snape slouched in his chair and pretended interest while McGonagall and the girl conferred over her schedule for the term. Weasley's comment about prison didn't particularly concern him. If the Ministry of Magic really thought he belonged in Azkaban, they would have sent a team of Aurors to take him there straightaway, he reasoned. He glowered at his creation, cursing the headache that still pounded relentlessly. Once McGonagall was finished with the child, he'd re-introduce her to her classmates in Slytherin House, hand her over to one of the prefects for assignment to a dormitory, and then get on with his life.

Finally, McGonagall rose to her feet. "That should do it, Miss Stuart." She saw her to the staircase, then handed Snape a piece of parchment. He held it at arm's length but still had to squint to read the writing. Some sort of list, he decided. "I don't envy you, becoming father to a teenager at your age," McGonagall said softly as Veronica descended out of sight. He thought he detected a twinkle in the headmistress' eye. It reminded Snape uncomfortably of her predecessor.

"Legal guardian," he corrected her. "_Temporary _legal guardian. She'll be of age in two years."

McGonagall tapped the list in his hand. There was definitely a twinkle in her eye. He didn't like it at all. "Meanwhile, Severus, you have school shopping to take care of," she retorted.


	13. Price

Severus Snape strode through the Leaky Cauldron with Veronica trailing behind him. The lunch crowd was just starting to gather. Once into Diagon Alley, Snape squinted at the list once more and shook his head in disgust. He would either have to purchase some reading glasses or grow a longer arm. "Come along," he told the girl. Flourish and Blott's would be as good a place as any to start. The manager bustled forward eagerly. "We need all the standard Hogwarts fifth-year texts," Snape said, shoving the list into his hands.

A matronly witch browsing the magazine rack took an interest in Veronica while they waited. "Starting the term a bit late, are you ?" She smiled down at the girl. "Well, you're bound to be nervous, your first year, but you'll make lots of friends-"

"She's a fifth-year," Snape corrected the woman, annoyed.

"Oh. Dear me, I'm sorry....well, good luck to you." She retreated to the other side of the rack, clearly embarrassed.

Veronica shrugged and gave him that wry look. Physically, she was an eleven-year-old. Snape mentally cursed himself. The child would never be accepted by her fifth-year peers, looking as she did now. She'd be a freak, an object of ridicule. He would _not_ allow that to happen. "An Aging Potion," he told her. "We'll stop in at the apothecary before we buy your school robes."

Before they did that, however, there were the text books, the notebooks, quills, parchment, cauldrons, scales, and all the other paraphernalia of academia. The girl was going to need a complete wardrobe as well, not just school uniforms, Snape realized. She had nothing but the clothes on her back. Not even a cloak, he noticed belatedly. Fortunately, the afternoon wasn't too terribly cold. Finally they reached Slug and Jiggers, the apothecary shop. "We require an Aging Potion," Snape told the proprietor. He scowled at the amount of galleons the purchase took. It annoyed him beyond reason to have to buy a ready-made potion, but there was no time to go back to Hogwarts and brew his own. The girl's gown was totally unsuitable, a style no longer worn by even the most elderly witch. Merlin's beard, even the girl's shoes were archaic. He would not have the other students teasing her because of her clothes.

"Come along, hurry up." Snape led her into the shadows of Nocturne Alley. They stopped in Borgin and Burkes. As usual, the dusty shop was nearly deserted. They waited while Mr. Borgin served the only other customer. Veronica looked around curiously at the shrunken heads and mummified hands on display.

"Professor, what are we buying here ?"

"Nothing."

"Then, why-"

"You can't very well take this potion in the middle of the street, can you ? This establishment has had my patronage often enough over the years, it won't hurt the proprietor to lend you the use of his office to transform in."

Borgin was still waiting on the other customer, a hunchbacked crone with wild grey hair and an immense wide-brimmed hat shielding her face. "Professor Snape, are you really feeling all right ? I don't want to be rude, but... well, you look older. Just a bit," she hastened to add. "Your hair has a little more grey in it, is all..." she amended when he glared at her.

Snape hesitated, debating. Did the girl really need to know ? She already suspected some harm had come to him from the ritual. He might as well tell her before her imagination supplied an answer that was worse than the reality. "You're right, I have aged, Miss Stuart. Fifteen years, I suspect."

Her eyes widened. "Oh, Professor, I'm so sorry ! I didn't know..." She looked horrified. "You didn't tell me-"

"I didn't know myself. Well, I knew there would be something," he corrected himself. "The Dark Arts always exact a price, Miss Stuart. It takes a powerful mage indeed to avoid paying that price in full." He scowled, hating to admit weakness to her. To himself. "I thought my magic would be strong enough. I was mistaken. A mistake so many witches and wizards have made, to their regret. Remember that, Miss Stuart, should you ever be tempted to step into the shadows yourself." The child's eyes widened further. Tears threatened to spill. The crone gave them a malicious glance as she left the shop. Snape scowled back at her. "Pull yourself together," he ordered the girl. "So I'll die at the age of one hundred and sixty, instead of one hundred and seventy-five." He chuckled. "Or perhaps one of the second-years will botch a simple potion and end my life in a fiery explosion tomorrow."

Borgin approached them, smiling his oily smile. Veronica drew a deep breath. "No emotional outbursts, Professor Snape," she promised. "But thank you for everything you're doing for me."

The situation with the potion was explained to Mr. Borgin quickly enough. Soon Snape had conjured a calibrated spoon and measured out the precise dosage. "This should age your body exactly four years. You will be fifteen both physically and intellectually." Snape ignored the fact that she'd been born in 1567. His headache had finally subsided and he had no desire to bring it back by thinking too hard about the paradoxes involved. "I'll just give you a moment alone," he suggested, stepping out of the office and closing the door. He'd seen enough children pass through normal puberty; he had absolutely no desire to watch the process in high speed.

When Veronica stepped out the door a few minutes later, she was holding her shoes in her hands, giggling. "Look, they've split right down the sides !" Snape wrapped his cloak around her shoulders before Borgin could get a look at her. Her shoes were not the only things that no longer fit. She'd grown at least five inches taller. The fabric of her gown, once loose and flowing, now clung to her body in a way that the potions master heartily disapproved of.

Snape sighed heavily and held the door for her. "On to Madame Malkin's, Miss Stuart." I'm about to go clothes shopping with an adolescent girl, he thought sourly. The day couldn't get any worse.


	14. Shopping

At Madame Malkin's, a mauve-robed saleswitch greeted them graciously, purposefully ignoring the strange sight Veronica presented in her too-small robe and bare feet. "Miss Stuart needs a complete set of school uniforms," Snape informed the woman. Her eyes lit up, no doubt in anticipation of the large commission she would earn.

"We also stock a full variety of shoes," the sales-witch hinted diplomatically.

"Of course. She needs _everything_," Snape ordered. Did the infernal woman expect him to spell it out for her ?

"We have quite a nice selection of Muggle-style outfits too." Her eyes positively glowed; Snape could imagine gold galleons reflected in them. "Very popular with the young people nowadays..."

"Whatever she needs." An unwelcome thought occurred to him. "Conservative styles. _Modest _clothing," he insisted, ignoring Veronica's giggle. His lip curled with distaste. "No bare midriffs."

"Of course, sir, I understand completely. Let me just show you some of our-"

"That won't be necessary," Snape glowered. The fool witch actually thought he wanted a fashion show ? "I'll just leave Miss Stuart in your capable hands," he told her. "Bill my account at Gringotts." He turned to Veronica. "I have some errands of my own to attend to. Meet me at the Leaky Cauldron when you've finished here."

-----

Snape was browsing through the latest issue of _Potions Illustrated_ when Veronica finally arrived in the Leaky Cauldron, bags filled with all her new belongings floating behind her. "You look very distinguished, Professor," she greeted him. Snape scowled at her over his new half-moon reading glasses. Was the child mocking him ? "Really, you do," Veronica assured him solemnly. She twirled, showing off her Hogwarts uniform. "What do you think ?"

Snape returned his attention to the magazine. "You don't look bad for four hundred and forty-four," he smirked. "We'll have dinner here," he informed her, "rather than walk in late and cause another stir back at the school."

As soon as they placed their orders, she pulled out her own book – _Achievement in Charming_ - and began to page through it avidly. Silence reigned all through dinner, broken only by the clink of cutlery or the faint whisper of a page turning. "I can't wait to get my first homework assignments," Veronica said as the plates were cleared away. "I suppose that sounds funny."

Looking at her bright, eager expression, Snape felt a cold knot form in the pit of his stomach. How would the rest of the student body react to her ? "Were the Gryffindors much the same in your day as they are now ?" he asked tentatively.

"Hot-headed and full of themselves, you mean ?" Her voice was wry. "Oh, yes. And the Ravenclaws were just as moody and the Slytherins were just as sly... and quick to take offense at any perceived slight." She smiled that brief, brilliant smile. "Don't even get me started about the Hufflepuffs."

"How do you intend to explain yourself to your peers ?"

"I'll tell them the truth, Professor Snape. That's the best way, don't you think ?"

He shook his head. "I honestly have no idea what you should do." At least he would be able to protect her. He would assign such onerous detentions that no Gryffindor would dare to even look at her, not as long as Professor Severus Snape was around... but he couldn't be there every second, could he ? The knot in his belly tightened. He couldn't really protect the child - they would torment her whenever his back was turned.

"Did you ever wonder what it would be like to go back to school, knowing what you know now, Professor Snape ?"

He blinked at the unexpected question. "No, why should I ? What do you mean ?"

"Well, if you could somehow return to your school days, knowing everything you know now, you'd handle things differently, wouldn't you ? Potter and his friends, for example..."

Snape glared. It was decidedly uncomfortable having a student who knew so much about his past. "Blackmail, Miss Stuart," he said finally. "I'd threaten to tell everyone that Lupin was a werewolf if they didn't leave me alone."

Veronica shook her head. Snape could tell she was struggling to keep a straight face. "You might try just ignoring them, Professor. If you hadn't started hexing James Potter in the first place, he and his friends would most likely have left you alone." Snape was taken aback by her words. It was as though their roles were reversed – she was the teacher and he the student. A particularly dull-witted student. He collected himself and favored her with a sneer.

"Let's get back to Hogwarts, Miss Stuart. I can't wait to see you put your theories of human social behavior to the test."


	15. Slytherin

Severus Snape followed Veronica into the dungeon, watching with pride as the young witch levitated the huge mound of parcels bought in Diagon Alley. He'd thought perhaps she might tire easily at first, having spent so many years confined to a frame. Instead, it appeared her new three-dimensional form had the normal share of teenage exuberance. They reached a blank section of dungeon wall and the girl paused. "Oh. I don't know the password, Professor."

"Nobility," he supplied, and the stones slid back to reveal the torch-lit common room. Snape's stomach upset returned full force. More than half of the Slytherins were in the room, chatting idly or studying in front of the fire. Thirty pairs of eyes turned toward the newcomers curiously. Cursing inwardly, Snape collected himself. _He_ had no reason to be nervous; after all, he was Head of Slytherin House. But the girl... they could make life hell for the girl if they chose not to accept her. "Webb, Theakston, assemble the students for a house meeting," he snapped at two of his prefects. He felt Veronica shift nervously, sidling back as though wanting to hide behind him. Snape grabbed her roughly by the shoulders and shoved her forward as the remaining Slytherins filed up the stairs from their dormitories. He could feel Veronica's back stiffen under his hands. She squared her shoulders and stepped out of his grasp, a step closer to her peers. Good. At least she wasn't going to shame herself – or her creator - by letting her fear show.

Snape waited a moment for everyone to find a place. "This is Miss Veronica Stuart," he introduced the girl. "No doubt some of you recognize her from her portrait in the potions lab," he added. There was a stir as they absorbed that information. "Silence," Snape ordered casually. "Miss Stuart has returned to Slytherin House with the intention of sitting for her exams. Of course, I expect her to do well." His eyes sought out the fifth-years and seventh-years in the room. "Just as I expect all of you to do well." He stared at each in turn until they squirmed. "In Miss Stuart's case, not only is the House honor at stake, but also her personal wizarding debt to me for having returned her to life," he went on. The potions master couldn't hide a satisfied smirk as that sank in. He saw respect, and from those with enough exposure to the Dark Arts to have some understanding, a certain amount of fear. He let his smile fade. "I shall be most disappointed in Miss Stuart if she fails," Snape said softly, dangerously, "even more disappointed if I find that anyone has hindered her in her efforts to repay her debt in full." There was complete silence in the room at that pronouncement. Well, he'd done what he could. The girl was on her own now. Snape stepped out of the flickering green torchlight. "You are dismissed."

He watched, forgotten for the moment, as the Slytherins crowded around their newest member. A babble of questions filled the air. "How did Professor Snape bring you back to life ?"

"When did you attend Hogwarts ?"

"How long has Snape been planning to bring you back ?"

"What happens if you fail your O.W.L.s – do you have to go back to being a painting ?"

"How did you end up as a painting in the first place ?"

Fifth-year Gemma Gaunt pushed her way to the front of the group. "Hey, calm down ! Veronica will answer your questions after she's had a chance to settle in." Even the older students obeyed; pretty and popular, Gemma was the undisputed princess of Slytherin. "You'll be in our dormitory, Veronica," the girl went on, taking her hand confidently and leading her toward the stairs. "I'll bet you're wicked awesome at Potions."

Snape's attention turned to Harita Shah. The shy, dark-haired girl had been Gemma's constant companion since their first year. Now her face was twisted with jealousy as she was left behind, spurned in favor of the newcomer. The professor shook his head; this would not end well. Harita was an excellent student – which was exactly why Gemma had chosen her – but a social outcast. All that had ended in the middle of their first year, though, when Gemma Gaunt had favored her with her friendship and protection. Now that friendship was being withdrawn in typical Slytherin fashion. Harita Shah would make sure Veronica paid dearly...

But Veronica was turning back from the head of the stairs. Her eyes swept the room until she located Miss Shah. "You're Harita, right ? I'm so glad we could finally meet. You are absolutely brilliant when it comes to Potions," she announced loudly enough for everyone to hear. The dark-haired student blushed at the unexpected praise. Smiling, she let Veronica take her hand and draw her back into the circle of girlish camaraderie. Snape blinked in surprise, then berated himself for not having seen it coming. Of course ! Veronica knew these students. She'd watched them – all of them – since their first days at Hogwarts. Her voice floated back up the stairs as the three girls descended to their dormitory together. "Transfiguration is where I fall short, Gemma. But I'm not bad at History." Snape heard her giggle at Gemma's response. "Yes, well, I lived through a lot of it. I hope we can all study together-" the voices faded away. The potions master slipped back to his laboratory unnoticed. It seemed Miss Stuart would manage just fine on her own.


	16. Class

Severus Snape stalked the aisles, flinging essay papers and caustic remarks. "Mr. Murray... Exceeds Expectations." He tossed the parchment onto the student's desk. "Kindly try to remember that erumpent is spelled with an 'E', not an 'A', Mr. Murray. Perhaps if you'd leave off mooning after Miss Dale like a love-sick lobalug, you could attend to your spelling." The Gryffindor couple both blushed as Snape continued on. "An Acceptable for Mr. Webb... barely. Ah, Miss Shah... Exceeds Expectations, as we've all come to expect from you... your _written_ work, that is." Snape slapped the next parchment down on the desk of a tall Gryffindor. "Mr. Shacklebolt. An Acceptable... you won't be following your father into the Aurors unless you do far better than that," he sneered. "And Miss Stuart... another Acceptable." Snape shook his head. "Most disappointing." Veronica accepted the parchment without comment.

Snape turned and gestured to the chalkboard, which began to fill with lines of cramped script. The class hastily took out parchment and quills and began to take notes. Veronica Stuart was doing quite well, Snape thought to himself. She'd caused a stir when she'd first returned. He scowled, remembering some of the more outrageous rumors. She was his long-lost ancestor brought back to life. Or variations; she was Muggle royalty. Or she was the next Heir of Slytherin. Or she was really his illegitimate daughter. Unbelievable what drivel gossiping adolescents could come up with. The girl had seemed to take it all in stride. And from all accounts, she was doing well in all her classes, Snape thought with pride. He shook himself out of his reverie. She still had a long way to go before exams week. "Open your texts to chapter eighteen," he snapped. "Let's review. Miss Gaunt, what are the safety precautions one must take when brewing Exploding Fluid ?"

A few minutes later, Snape decided it was time to call on Harita Shah. Inwardly, he sighed. The child was exceptionally intelligent, but burdened with a speech impediment – a stutter so severe that it was virtually impossible for her to participate in class. Poppy Pomfrey had tried numerous remedies, and of course the girl's parents had done everything they could for her. Many of the teachers had given up calling on her at all, out of pity, Snape supposed. Soft-hearted fools. What good would their pity do her, when she was unable to recite the shortest incantation, defend herself against even the simplest curse ? Better to have sent the girl to school in the Muggle world, where her handicap would be less of a hindrance, Snape thought. But of course, it wasn't up to him. Well, as long as she was in his class, he would treat her like any other student. "Miss Shah, who discovered the useful properties of the bubotuber plant ?"

"S-s-s-s-" she hissed, struggling to get the rest of the name out. One or two half-hearted snickers from the Gryffindors were the only other sounds in the lab. Most of the Slytherins were tensed, hating the ordeal, but none so much as Harita. "S-sachar- sacharissa T-t-t-" Her voice died completely.

"Take a deep breath, Miss Shah. Take your time," Snape said tolerantly, deliberately making his tone as condescending as possible. Sometimes making the girl angry did the trick. Gemma Gaunt hissed, a sharp intake of breath. He gave her a warning look, daring her to interfere. The tension on the Slytherin side of the room mounted; Snape had been known to actually take points if Harita failed to answer to his satisfaction. Several of the other girls' lips were pursed as they silently mouthed the name, trying to will the syllables out of Harita's mouth.

"T-t-t-t-tugwood," Harita gasped. Her House-mates relaxed with a barely-audible sigh.

"Correct, Miss Shah. Miss Stuart, what is the significance of the year sixteen forty-eight ?" Snape continued immediately.

Veronica looked bewildered. "The goblin rebellion of Gloucester ?" she said hesitantly.

"This is Potions, not History of Magic. Significant to the science of _potion-brewing_," Snape said witheringly.

"Um... Ingrid the Inconspicuous discovered a new use for boomslang skin ?"

Snape shook his head. "You have no idea, do you, Miss Stuart ?" Blushing, the girl shook her head. "Your assignment was to study chapter eighteen, was it not ? How is it that you cannot answer this one simple question ?" The sound of pages riffling filled the room as students desperately skimmed the text for any reference to 1648. "Six weeks until exams," Snape reminded them acidly. "Ten points from Slytherin. You can thank Miss Stuart for that." He leaned over her desk. "You may be Hogwart's newest celebrity, Miss Stuart, but that does not excuse you from being prepared for my class." Veronica kept her eyes on her desk, completely mortified. The potions master turned away, seeking a chance to take a few points from Gryffindor. He hated taking points from his own House, but at times it was necessary. He certainly wasn't going to coddle Miss Stuart. No one could ever accuse Professor Severus Snape of favoritism, he thought with satisfaction.


	17. Friends

"Nice work, Stuart," a seventh-year remarked sarcastically. "Getting your own Head of House to take points off you."

Bent over her textbook, Veronica didn't seem to have heard the boy's comment. "I've been through this chapter three times. There's no reference to anything in the entire seventeenth century, much less 1648," she complained, close to tears. "It's so frustrating !"

"Just let it drop, why don't you ?" Gemma told her. "At least the fifth-years know it wasn't your fault. By next week, it will all be forgotten. Snape's gone completely nuts," she added angrily. "The way he picks on you. He was never unfair like this before."

Veronica snorted. "Tell that to the Gryffindors." Harita chuckled, earning an annoyed look from the 'Princess of Slytherin'.

"All right, I suppose Professor Snape is sometimes a bit hard on the Gryffindors," Gemma admitted reluctantly. "But they deserve it," she added. "You don't, Veronica ! You and Harita are the best in the class. It's so unfair, the way he singles you both out."

Harita interrupted her friend's complaints, her Potions textbook open to the chapter that was giving Veronica so much trouble. "L-look. Th-th-there's a f-f-f-f-"

Footnote, Veronica thought, looking to where Harita was pointing. She resisted the urge to finish the word for her; Gemma had explained that it would only add to her frustration.

"F-f-footnote," Harita finally managed.

Veronica read it out loud. "_Potions and their Peculiarities_." Grabbing her books, the young Slytherin scrambled to her feet.

"Where are you going ?"

"To the library. I'm going to find out what happened in 1648 if it takes me all night !" Veronica's friends rolled their eyes, then gathered their own books and followed her from the common room.

-----

"Sixteen forty-eight. Tantalus MacTattersal extracts exploding oil from an erumpent horn," Veronica read aloud. "Hmm, it says here he accidentally destroyed his home village of Saint Declan on Dee three times before he succeeded. Local Muggles burned him at the stake – twice – but he escaped using the Flame-Freezing Charm."

"I'm sure I'll sleep better tonight, now that we've found that out," Gemma said sarcastically. "That settles it. Snape is off his rocker if he expected you to know that. Well, come on, let's get back to the dorm. I've got some pumpkin pasties-"

"I'm going to stay for a while longer," Veronica said, determined. "I'm going to look up every footnote and citation in this textbook. There's no way I'm going to be unprepared for class ever again."

"Suit yourself. Come on, Harita."

The dark-haired girl's gaze wavered nervously between her two friends. "I-I-I th-think I'll stay and h-h-h-help," she ventured.

Gemma sighed and sat back down. "You two are just as crazy as Professor Snape," she said fondly. An hour later Madam Pince informed the girls that the library was closing for the night. Harita carried _Potions and their Peculiarities_ to the librarian's desk and checked it out. "What do you want that for ?" asked Gemma. Wordlessly, Harita pointed to a page. "Uric the Oddball claimed to have produced a potion that cured stuttering, using jellyfish gelatin. Thereafter, the eccentric wizard never went anywhere without a supply of the potion, going so far as to wear a magically preserved Portuguese Man-Of-War as a hat, so as to always have the fresh ingredient on hand," Gemma read. "All right," she said dubiously, "but if you start wearing a jellyfish on your head, Harita Shah-"

"I-I-I'd be g-glad to wear a jellyfish hat, if it c-c-could make me t-talk like a n-n-n-n-normal person," she said fiercely.

"Looks like we've found our sixth-year Advanced Potions project already," Veronica replied.

"Knock yourselves out," said Gemma. "I'm switching to Muggle Studies."


	18. Grades

Severus Snape banished young Glaucus Webb's potion from his desk and marked an E in his grade book, then turned his attention to Veronica Stuart's bottle. It was very nearly perfect. His quill hovered over the grade book. The potion was deserving of an E. Snape shook his head. No. She could have chopped her caterpillars a bit finer. She needed to be pushed if she were to do her best on the O.W.L.s. Decisively, he added another A to her column. He glanced up as Alton Crenshaw hastily placed his finished potion bottle on the desk as the other students began to file out the door. "Miss Stuart, a word, if you please."

Snape pulled half a dozen fliers from a drawer and fanned them on the desk. He surveyed the moving photographs of happy teenaged witches and wizards with distaste. Unforeseen complications. "The Social-Witch and I agreed that a summer camp would be the best place for you to spend the holidays." He gestured for Veronica to take the brochures.

"Won't that be expensive, sir ?"

"That is no concern of yours, Miss Stuart." Although what, exactly, the sum of that "hefty fine" was going to be had begun to nag at the back of his mind as the expenses of being the child's legal guardian continued to mount. More unforeseen complications. "Make your decision quickly," he commanded her. "The best camps will have already filled to capacity."

She smiled as she flicked through the titles. "I already know, sir. Glaucus attended this one last year, it's supposed to be very good. Thank you very much, Professor," she added as he took her selection from her hand.

Snape's lip curled as he perused the brochure. At least this one offered a strong academic program. It was a shame that all the camps seemed to be co-educational. He ran down the list of recreational activities. Quidditch, swimming, boating, horse-back riding. Merlin's beard ! Horse-back riding, he thought with disgust. No doubt another shopping excursion to Diagon Alley would be required before the end of term.

"Um, Professor ? I'd like you to take a look at this, please."

Bemused, he took the sheet of parchment from her and scanned it. Snape suppressed a smile as he read. She'd written an essay on the life of Tantalus MacTattersal, the Scottish potions master whose most notable achievement was discovering how to safely extract exploding oil from the horns of erumpents. In sixteen forty-eight. "If you were expecting extra credit, Miss Stuart, I'm afraid you will be disappointed," he said sternly.

"Oh, no, Professor. I've given up on expecting _any_ credit from you." Her voice was bitter. Snape followed her eyes; she'd been reading his grade book upside-down across the desk. "I see you gave Gemma another O," Veronica went on in a rush. This wouldn't get her anywhere, she knew, but she just couldn't seem to help herself. "You do realize she would barely be able to scrape an A herself if Harita weren't her lab partner ? She isn't even planning to continue taking Potions next year."

"I am perfectly aware of who is deserving of an A in my classroom, Miss Stuart," Snape said coldly, fingering the parchment in his hand. He glared, waiting for her to back down. Veronica glared right back, filled with righteous anger. A long minute passed before she finally dropped her gaze.

"I apologize, sir," Veronica said stiffly.

Mentally, Snape drew a deep breath. She could be very... disconcerting at times, with those ancient eyes. "Very well. You are dismissed."

She reached for the essay. "If you're not going to accept that-"

He twitched the parchment away from her hand. "No. I think I'll keep this." She blinked at him. "In thirty long years, Miss Stuart, Hermione Granger was the only other pupil to ever discover the significance of the year 1648." The potions master managed to keep his own smile hidden as her face lit up. She literally skipped out of the room. Well, a little bit of encouragement couldn't hurt too much, he thought as her footsteps receded up the stairs.


	19. Memories

A week later Severus Snape was seated at his desk, which was once more covered with colorful pamphlets, this time for various careers in the wizarding world. "Have you given any thought to your future beyond the walls of Hogwarts, Miss Stuart ?"  
  
"I'd really like to go into Potions work, Professor. I'm not sure yet whether I'd prefer to work at a hospital or an apothecary, or as a teacher."  
  
"A teacher ? Of Potions ?" Snape raised a skeptical eyebrow.  
  
Veronica squirmed. "Um, yes, sir. I... I rather like children," she mumbled.  
  
"You like children," Snape repeated slowly. His voice was heavy with sarcasm. "In that case, Miss Stuart, may I suggest that you dispense with higher education entirely ? If you're so fond of children, simply marry and spawn a brood of your own."  
  
"I was under the impression that in the twenty-first century, a woman could do both. Sir."   
  
She wore that expression he disliked so much, perfectly serious, yet there was an air of holding back laughter. Laughter at his expense. Snape decided to concede that one point. "You'd be taking the same courses in your sixth and seventh year, regardless of whether your ultimate goal was medicine or academia. For Advanced Potions, of course, I require no less than an Outstanding grade at the Ordinary Wizarding Level. High marks are also required in Herbology and Arithmancy." Snape paused to glance over Veronica's grades, consulting a musty-smelling scroll in addition to the slim stack of fresh parchments provided by the other professors. "You've kept your marks up in both subjects, in _this_ century," he remarked with a smirk, causing the girl to giggle. "It shouldn't surprise you that competancy in Defense Against the Dark Arts is also a necessity. One needs to know one's remedies and antidotes," he pointed out.  
  
"How about Astromony ?"  
  
"Absolutely. As you already know, the correct phase of the moon is key to the success of many potions. More advanced potion brewing often requires that complex astrological equations be taken into account. Professor Sinistra accepts only those students who've earned an E or higher on their O.W.L.s," Snape added severely. "I take it you've been studying diligently ?" He knew she had. Despite the recent Easter holiday with its accompanying fine weather, she was pale, evidence that she'd spent many more hours in the library or the Slytherin dungeon common room rather than out of doors in the fresh air. All his fifth-years had that same pallor, and the seventh-years studying for their N.E.W.T.s.  
  
Veronica looked determined. "I will repay my debt to you, Professor Snape," she said fervently.  
  
He nodded curtly, secretly pleased with her decision to follow in his own chosen career path. "If you have no further questions then, Miss Stuart, I'll let you get back to your studies."  
  
"There is one more thing, Professor, if you have time ?"  
  
Snape glanced at the clock. "Miss Gaunt is not due for her career counseling appointment for another twenty minutes." Veronica rummaged in the bookbag at her feet and produced a grubby piece of parchment. As Severus Snape took it from her saw that it was a Hogsmeade permission form, heavily creased. She'd obviously been carrying it around in her satchel for some time.   
  
"It's the last Hogsmeade weekend of the term, sir. I need a parent or... or legal guardian's signature," she stammered as he scowled at her. "I've been studying very hard, Professor. I'd really like to go, just for an hour or two."  
  
His eyes flicked back to the record of her grades. "You continue to have difficulty in Transfiguration, I see." His class and McGonagall's were the only classes in which the child was not earning top marks.  
  
"I've been working really hard to improve, sir."  
  
With a menacing glare at her and a sharp tug at his sleeve, Snape jerked a button off the cuff and flung it onto the desk between them. "Prove it," he snapped. He'd seen her struggle to turn beetles into buttons; transfiguring a button into a beetle was, arguably, even more difficult. Veronica drew her wand. Leaning forward in her chair, her eyebrows drew down as she frowned in concentration. Murmuring the spell, she tapped the button lightly, then jumped back with a shriek as a large black beetle scuttled towards her. Snape laughed at her surprise. "Not really expecting that to work, were you ?" He corralled the bug, caging it between his fingers. "Now turn it back," he ordered her. With more confidence this time, she complied. Snape reattached the button to his cuff. "_Reparo._ Very well," he sighed as he scrawled his signature on the permission form. "Just don't overindulge in butterbeer. And if I catch you bringing back dungbombs or any of that other foolishness from Zonko's joke shop," he imbued the words with contempt, "you will find yourself serving detention."  
  
"Oh, no sir. Thank you, Professor." Still she lingered, turning the permission slip in her hands.  
  
"Was there something more you wished to discuss, Miss Stuart ?"  
  
"You were right about my parents," she said abruptly. Snape cocked his head, bemused. "When I told you no one had ever loved me," Veronica elaborated. "You argued that my parents had. I didn't believe it at the time. They never showed much affection." Snape shuffled her grades to one side, waiting for the child to make her point. "I had five brothers, Professor, none of whom lived to see their first birthday."  
  
"Infant mortality rates were high back in those days, even among wizards."  
  
"I know it was a great disappointment to my father, not to have an heir. He probably wanted nothing more for me than to make a good marriage," she explained, "but instead he agreed to send me to Hogwarts for an education. Something I'm sure he felt I had absolutely no use for," Veronica said wryly. Snape looked away, remembering his earlier comment. "Anyway, Professor, thinking back on it now, I have to agree with you that my parents did love me, very much. They just weren't able to show it in conventional ways." Her hand slipped across the desk between them. Snape felt her small fingers close over his, briefly. The potions master started to jerk his hand away, but she had already folded hers demurely in her lap again. "It's odd, sir. I'd forgotten so much, over the years I existed as a portrait. It all came back for a while, after you brought me back to life." She smiled at him, that quick smile that lit up her face. "The longer I live in this century, though, the harder it is for me to remember the girl I was in the sixteenth century. It's all starting to fade away. When I think of my father, I can't picture his face any longer. Actually, Professor, when I try, the face I see... is yours."   
  
Veronica jumped up, gathering her books to her chest with a nervous little laugh. "Oh well. I just wanted to tell you that you were right, before I forgot about it completely. Good day, Professor Snape, and thank you for signing the permission slip." Before the dumbfounded Snape could begin to frame a reply, she'd darted from the office.


	20. Family

Severus Snape arrived late at the apparition point. The Social-Witch had expected him to attend the Parent's Weekend festivities at Veronica's summer camp. Just thinking about it, he let out a disgusted snort. His disciplinary hearing had finally taken place one week after the term had ended; cooperating with the Department of Child Welfare had not, after all, convinced the Wizengamot to be lenient. The fine they had levied against him for use of the Dark Arts was indeed a hefty one. As a result, he'd felt no inclination to follow the meddling Social-Witch's suggestion that he visit his ward in the south of France. That is, until an incompetent post-owl had delivered Veronica's copy of the results of her Ordinary Wizarding Levels to him at Hogwarts.

On a whim, Snape had decided to bring them to her in person. Now he strode across the sun-washed pastel campus, a stark black figure totally at odds with the umbrella pines and bougainvillea. In the main lecture hall, a short, officious-looking wizard was concluding a speech under a large banner magicked to flash 'Welcome Parents' in French and English. A smiling witch offered Snape a glass of punch. "No thank you. I have no need of that," he told her with a sneer.

"As you wish, m'sieu." It was only after he'd turned away that Snape realized she'd answered in French and he had understood her. Of course, she had comprehended his English because the punch was spiked with Babel Brew. Disdainful as always of other's potions, he'd made sure to imbibe his own version of the translation potion before leaving London.

Abandoning the boredom of the welcome ceremonies, Snape waited under the shade of a plane tree. As families filed out of the lecture hall, he scanned the crowd for Veronica but didn't see her. A young girl directed him to Veronica's dormitory, where he finally found her alone in the common room, reading _Magical Drafts and Potions. _"Professor Snape ! I wasn't expecting you..."

"I wanted to deliver the results of your O.W.L.s, Miss Stuart." She took the envelope from his hand with trepidation, slowly breaking the seal. "They came to Hogwarts and I suspected you'd waste your summer worrying, if you didn't see them." He hid a smirk; he'd opened the envelope when it had arrived, then magically resealed it.

Snape waited impatiently as Veronica finally opened the envelope, then hesitantly drew out the parchment within. He was totally unprepared for her reaction. "Oh," she said in a small voice. "I'm sorry, Professor."

He snatched the parchment, scanning it quickly to reconfirm what he already knew. "Miss Stuart, you earned Outstanding marks on both the theory and practical portions of the Potions exam," he said, bewildered. Her eyes were shiny with unshed tears, tears which threatened to spill at any moment.

"Yes, but I only got an A in Transfiguration."

Snape resisted the urge to shake her. It was his own fault, he supposed, for pushing her so hard. "Please, Miss Stuart, don't pull a Granger on me. Silly girl, you weren't planning to take Advanced Transfiguration, so it hardly matters. As far as I'm concerned, you are well on your way to repaying your debt."

Veronica blinked. "Well on my way ? I don't understand... I did pass all my O.W.L.s."

He chuckled. She'd gone from contrite to indignant in a heartbeat. "You still need to pass your N.E.W.T.s. And then there's university, of course... I do hope you aren't intending to take another four hundred years to complete your education, Miss Stuart."

She giggled then. "Do you want to attend any of the parent's day activities ? There's a quidditch match-"

"Absolutely not."

-----

In the end, Snape wound up taking Veronica to lunch at a small cafe in town. "I am proud of your efforts so far," he told her. He pulled a small velvet jewelry box from his pocket, obviously very old. "Your sixteenth birthday is coming up soon, is it not ? It was customary to hand this down from mother to daughter in the Snape family," he said carelessly, handing her the box. "My grandmother was the last to wear it. As I have no progeny of my own to pass it on to, I thought you might like to have it."

Veronica lifted the dainty signet ring with its monogrammed _S_ out of the box reverently. "I'll cherish it always, professor. Thank you."

Snape shrugged. "It serves just as well for a Stuart as for a Snape," he said gruffly. "Better you should wear it than have it lay forgotten in a drawer."

"Professor Severus Snape, rescuer of forgotten objects," Veronica said. "Jewelry in drawers, portraits in corners..."

"Even though it is the holidays, Miss Stuart, I can still take points off for cheek."


	21. Epilogue

Severus Snape opened the bottom left-hand drawer of his desk and grimaced with distaste. Here was where his meticulous habits had fallen short; over the years, this one drawer had become a catch-all. He lifted out a box and began to sift through it. Gobstones, dungbombs, trading cards... decades of items confiscated from generations of students. His long, sallow fingers dredged up a 'Weasley is Our King' badge and the deep-etched lines of his face relaxed into something resembling a smile. Young Draco Malfoy... And here was that ridiculous hat – what was it supposed to be, a squid ? No, a jellyfish. Snape's almost-smile widened, remembering the day Harita Shah had finally recited in class without stuttering.

Footsteps sounded in the corridor and a witch entered the laboratory in a swirl of black robes, cardboard boxes and wooden packing crates levitating behind her. "I don't mean to rush you, Professor Snape. I just had to get these out of the cottage. Oh, what have you got there ? Is that Harita's old jellyfish hat ?"

"Just some rubbish. I was about to throw it away... unless you think your boys would like to have it ?"

She peered into the box. "Dungbombs ! You never let _me_ have dungbombs. Oh look, candy. I wonder if it's still any good-"

"I wouldn't sample that," he warned, taking it from her. "I think it's a puking pastille."

Their eyes met and she chuckled wryly. "The Weasley twins." She glanced around the familiar potions lab. "I have to admit, there are moments when I'm not so sure about taking this job. I don't know if I'll be able to fill your shoes, Professor."

"You had better, Professor Webb." Snape turned away and closed the empty desk drawer with an air of finality. "I have no intention of coming out of retirement," he told her gruffly.

"No, of course not. You've earned it."

Snape gripped her shoulder, a brief touch, gentle. "You will make me proud, as you have always done." She smiled up at him. He really hadn't changed much, she was glad to see, the harsh lines of his face a little deeper, the hair more grey than black... and of course, the half-moon spectacles he wore all the time now. He had earned a peaceful retirement, the chance to finally pursue his own interests, she thought to herself. Well, perhaps not always as peaceful and sedate as he might wish for, she amended. Not if she had any say in the matter. "You are joining us for dinner tonight, aren't you, sir ? We've finally got most of the kitchen and dining room unpacked."

"I was thinking of having a quiet dinner alone. Your sons have a tendency to be..." Snape searched for the right word. "Noisy," he specified, disapproving.

She kept a straight face with an effort. "They're six and eight years old, Professor Snape. Of course they're noisy sometimes. Glaucus is making roast chicken," she added, wheedling.

"Oh, very well," Snape said resignedly, allowing himself to be persuaded. She caught a glimpse of a smile, quickly hidden as he turned to leave.

"We'll see you at seven then, Professor." The new potions mistress waited until his footsteps had receded up the dungeon stairs, then turned and surveyed her domain. Her eyes roved over the work tables, the shelves of potion-brewing supplies, the empty wall in the corner where the portrait of a young girl had hung for so many years. When Veronica spoke again, her voice was barely audible in the empty room. "Thank you again for everything... Father."

-----

Author's notes: Thank you for reading, especially tessajalynn-cilory, Silverthreads, duj, Jedi Blu, Lady At Large, Aly DragonChild, Catherine Tavington, redlady27, Alexia S. Luclwit, Vitreum, invisible2u, AngelApple1, misting morning, oogityboogity, The-Bass-player312, Donroth, Kellalor, Mooncheese, ,00,, Anna Taure, Anne O'Nimous, Ellsie, excessivelyperky, Floria, Marahootei, minute, Myranya, pigeonsfromhell, Talamh, tall oaks, The Lady Quotes, Tora88, and Vekura for taking the time to review the work in progress. I really appreciated your encouragement, questions, suggestions, and my very first ever accusation of plagiarism. Thanks again !


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